All is Fair in Love and War
by aconsultingwizard
Summary: AU! Voldemort wins, Harry dies, from the perspective of the narrator cloaked in darkness. Written (mostly) for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry as a series of onsets so may seem a little disconnected but I will smooth it out once the current assignment is done.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft &amp; Wizardry (Challenges &amp; Assignments): History of Magic (Assignment 8)

Prompt: Write about any historic Harry Potter event (any era) with it's outcome changed.

Note to marker: Capitalisation of 'he' and 'his' in places is intentional- just so as you know for SPAG.

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft &amp; Wizardry (Challenges &amp; Assignments): Scavenger Hunt (Imperio)

* * *

You might wonder who I am. I'm nobody. I'm just the narrator, simply someone to tell you the story. I am a part of it, and yet mine is a small part, unimportant to most. I simply observe both sides, and watch the balance tip from one side to the other.

Enough about me though.

It has been ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts, since Harry Potter was defeated and the students were rounded up and imprisoned. Ten years that Britain has been under the Dark Lord's rule. Ten years of fear. Of terror. Of loss and heartbreak and pain and ruin.

No one is quite sure how it happened. We all had such faith, such hopes for the young boy with the scar on his forehead. But it was to no avail. Perhaps there was too much pressure. Perhaps he didn't want, couldn't stand the responsibility. Perhaps he was simply too weak. Anyway, he failed.

He was so young, they were all so young. Their faces were not those of soldiers but of children. They were caught up in the joy, the excitement and the promise that war brings with it at first. And then it started to go wrong. There were too many who were loyal to Him. Too many had been bribed and brought, cowed and corrupted. The ranks turned on themselves, fighting was everywhere and in the chaos, somehow, the-boy-who-lived became the-boy-who-died.

Almost immediately the fighting was over. Hogwarts was the first great victory and the Ministry fell completely soon after. Muggles were imprisoned, sent up North to Scotland to be kept in overcrowded camps. Those who were lucky worked as slaves to the wealthy Death Eaters, enduring daily torture in exchange for food and shelter.

The muggleborns were killed. Almost every single one was burnt or drowned or simply cursed. They had magic, they were dangerous, a fact that no one liked to admit but everyone knew was true. Public 'trials' were held, where no defence case was allowed and were all swiftly followed by punishment. Those loyal to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix were tortured, the imperius curse used on them to crush every last hope the country had.

Those who remained loyal to the Dark Lord took over muggle London, living in the finest houses and eating the finest food. They had constant entertainment, gorgeous clothes and lived in the greatest level of luxury.

The rest of the world, all the wizarding ministries who had claimed to be our allies in peace time simply watched merrily as Britain burned in the fires of Voldemort's wrath.

Sorry, I'm a little bitter.

Anyway, with anyone who had magic and might oppose the Dark Lord's reign safely locked up or killed, or simply tortured until they could no longer function, He was safe. Now He hardly sees anyone, he is guarded by the most elite of his Death Eaters and only a select few may gain an audience. His paranoia drives him to send out yet more commands, every day many are killed so as to satisfy his appetite for blood. London is a city drowned in sorrow and cruelty, and none but the lowest of the low see it as it truly is.

That one twist of fate, when we were all so convinced that He would fall, and we were all so wrong, changed everything. All hopes were dashed, all was lost. Now, nothing remains that is good, or true. Nothing remains of love, or hope. It is all gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft &amp; Wizardry (Challenges &amp; Assignments): DADA (Assignment 7)

Prompt: For this task, I would like you to write about someone who is torn between two sides of something. Maybe two different lovers, or two different sides of a war, like Snape. The theme of a struggle between these two sides should be defined.

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft &amp; Wizardry (Challenges &amp; Assignments): Scavenger Hunt (Avada Kedavra)

* * *

I have seen a war. I have observed the casualties, seen the fighting and watched as good people died fighting for a cause they didn't really believe in. I have seen the impact of war, the way one single spell, that Avada Kedavra spell, the killing curse that killed the-boy-who-lived, has fallen like a stone into a pool and the ripples have brought chaos and death in their wake.

No one knows, when they send their parents and husbands and wives and children and sweethearts off to war that if they are lucky enough to return they will be empty husks, shadows of what they used to be. No one thinks of the months that torture the soul, the long hours spent watching the clocks tick away the time you have left. No one believes that it can be as bad as reported, that it isn't all some dramatic exaggeration. Even those fighting on the front line aren't told the whole story. Those in charge try to hide the constant lack of progress, the failures of other battles. The dead lay where fallen until someone decides to burn them all. Both sides bleed alike, the same blood that is in one is in the other and the blood mingles together, seeping out of the dead and wounded to fill the streets of London.

I lied earlier. Just a bit. I told you that I was just an observer, that I simply watched from the sidelines. In this war it is impossible to be uninvolved. Especially for those of us who have caught the Dark Lord's eye. No, I have done my fair share of torture and murder and committed the most horrific of crimes. But I have also gone to great lengths to try to remedy those crimes. I have risked everything to save mugs and wizards alike.

And so we come to the question. Where do my loyalties lie?

One side offered me riches and fame. I would be amongst the Dark Lord's most favoured, perhaps even tipped to become his heir. I would never have had to worry about anything again. And all that it would have cost me was my soul. I commit atrocities every day just to ensure my safety. I kill and maim just so I can stay safe, well fed, and well clothed. I am privileged and held up by society.

The other side turned me away. Cast me back to the darkness when I came to them as a broken man, desperate for help. They condemned me as a murderer and would have no business with me. But their way offers redemption. It is a chance to help people, a chance to repent of my evil.

Morally, it's a cut and dry case. There is an obvious choice. All I need to do is weigh out my sense of self-preservation and my morals and decide which matters more.

However, it's not that simple. I don't completely disagree with the Dark Lord. Perhaps I should, perhaps it is only my privileged upbringing which has influenced my thinking. But I think that to a certain extent, he's right.

Magic folk should be kept separate from mugs. No good happens when they mix- this war has proven that much. I don't know what we do about muggleborns. Certainly not kill them, but they will never fit properly into our society.

I thought, when I was younger, that everything was so clean cut, so black and white. Now I'm not so sure that they are different things, that perhaps everyone has both inside of them, and it is the balance between them that decides who we are.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft Wizardry (Challenges Assignments): Muggle Studies (Assignment 7)

Prompt: Write a story involving two characters in one of the three situations. It does not have to be romantic (**When there's two intersections, the lines meet at the beginning and the end**/When there's no intersection, the lines run parallel to each other but never meet/When there's intersection, the lines meet at one point and then never see each other again.

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft Wizardry (Challenges Assignments): Scavenger Hunt (Crucio)

* * *

I do apologise. I'm feeling particularly self centred today so you'll have to indulge me as I'll tell you a rather personal story. I know you probably don't care- you don't know me after all, but as I am the narrator and you are the reader you will have to listen.

This story is one of bonds formed in war, and of war, and during war. This story is about two ordinary people in the most extraordinary of situations.

I'm afraid it's not a particularly original story. There was a girl, as there always is. It was war, we were on opposing sides, it was a tragic tale of star crossed lovers, as you would expect.

But it was not just a night of lust and passion. She changed me. She drove me mad. She took everything I knew, everything I believed, every certainty, and she turned it upside down. She sent my organised thoughts tumbling, made me incapable of sense and logic.

Before, I was cruel and indifferent. I didn't care. I was better than her. I never considered her except to insult her.

After, she was constantly on my mind. Out there, alone, in hiding somewhere.

We were together at the very beginning. Together, bound by hate, tied up in petty childish squabbles as the world crumbled about us. As the Dark Lord ruled with an iron fist, as Harry Potter died in vain, as the muggleborns were rounded up and killed, somehow she survived.

Somehow, defying all laws of probability and possibility, I saw her. In a dark room, in a broken city, I looked across and my eyes found her. She was a pale shadow of her former self, even as she displayed a facade of vibrancy and desire. She was by far the most talented woman in the room, but of course most of the patrons were too drunk to care how good she was.

She always had to be a cut above everyone else. It seemed that even in this lowering of herself she had succeeded in drawing attention, in becoming the brightest girl in the room. She was lust personified, had the skill of seduction down to a fine art. I suppose, when her survival depended on it, she deemed it a worthy cause. The lust filled whispers of desire that slithered at her ear, the greasy hands that gripped her tightly, the tongues that threatened to steal her decency must have horrified her, disgusted her even, but in war, one must do whatever they can to survive.

It was, as far as these places go, a reasonably dignified business, I would not have been seen in some of the lowly houses that beat their girls and who's patrons were dark, evil wizards. No, it was one of the nicer places, a place that I often frequented, but I had never before seen her. She was the star of the show, the brightest jewel in the room, and I watched as she danced in the spotlight.

The curves that she had hidden under her robes at school were revealed for all to see and she was beautiful. I would have never considered her beautiful, never allowed myself to think of her in any way other than as something to be walked over, but on that night I broke all the rules.

I know that as soon as our eyes met she knew that I had recognised her. She was under a heavy glamour charm but I knew too well that glint in her eyes. The steely glare that met me so often, the 'I'm better than you' attitude reflected in her expression. I saw her falter, just once. She took a step back, into the shadows and I rose up out of my seat. I'm sure that she thought I would call for help, or perhaps simply raise my wand and cast the_ Cruciatus_ curse on her, a reflection of the torture I inflicted on her in our youth. Instead I walked over to her and claimed her with a kiss. I took her upstairs, away from their eyes, and made her mine.

Somewhere, deep inside my lust filled brain I knew it was wrong. I knew it was a stupid idea, and I knew I would regret it but I didn't care. I thought I saw a spark of something in her eyes. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps it was an elaborate lie, perhaps I was nothing more to her than just another customer. But I am sure that she felt something, some fleeting stab of attraction. I am sure that on that night, she cared for me as much as I cared for her.

We were together, truly together, just that once. It was a night of passion, of desperation in the midst of hopelessness. Of course we had spent time together before, but we were not truly together until that night. We were reckless, we lived for that one moment, we cared only about the night and not the consequences that the dawn would bring. She was mine and I was hers, and in the morning she was gone. She left, not with the life and passion she had entered into my dark world with, but with the silence of one who is broken.

I have not seen her since, and I don't expect to see her for a long time. She will come out when her side wins, or be dragged out when mine does. We will see each other, be together at the end, when it is time for one of us to go where the other cannot.


End file.
